THE  CALL  OF 
BROTHERHOOD 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 
CORINNE  ROOSEVELT  ROBINSON 


GIFT  OF 


K  u«r 


THE  CALL  OF  BROTHERHOOD 

AND    OTHER   POEMS 


THE 
CALL  OF  BROTHERHOOD 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

CORINNE  ROOSEVELT  ROBINSON 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published  October,  1912 


TO 
FRANCES  THEODORA  PARSONS 

THE  FRIEND 

TO   WHOSE   INSPIRATION   AND    COMPANIONSHIP 

I     OWE    MY    HAPPIEST     HOURS 

WITH   BOOKS  AND  NATURE 


290°.?  5 


CONTENTS 

LIFE 


PAGE 


THE  CALL  OF  BROTHERHOOD 3 

VISION 5 

LINCOLN 7 

DEATH  AND  THE  SCULPTOR      .     . 8 

AMFORTAS 9 

FATE'S  DUEL 11 

REMBRANDT'S  POLISH  RIDER 12 

MATERNITY 13 

To  F.  W 14 

MA  BELLE 15 

FRIENDSHIP 16 

STRETCH  OUT  YOUR  HAND 17 

A  SONG  OF  THE  BY-WAYS 18 

MY  COMRADE 20 

SPRING 22 

THE  TRAIL  TO  WHITE  TOP 23 

JUNE 27 

AFTER  LONG  LIFE 28 

vii 


PAGE 

THE  GREAT  QUESTION 29 

PRAYER     .......      30 

DEATH  .  31 


HEROISM 

THE  TITANIC: 

THE  LUST  FOR  SPEED 35 

PARTING 38 

TOGETHER 39 

THE  MEN 40 

To  A.  W.  B 41 

THE  ENGINEER! 42 

THE  WIRELESS  TOWER 44 

THE  BAND  . 47 

LOVE 

AWAKENING 51 

LOVE  HAS  A  MYRIAD  OF  WINNING  WAYS  ....  52 

LOVE  is  A  BEGGAR     .    .    .    fc    . 53 

ONE  HOUR 54 

"AMOR  SCONSOLATO" 56 

UNFULFILLED 57 

THE  LESSER  PART 58 

THE  BETTER  PART 59 

DISILLUSION 60 

viii 


IF  SOME  FAIR  ANGEL 61 

LOVE  AND  UNFAITH 62 

LOVE  AND  FAITH 63 

THE  FORGOTTEN  COUNTERSIGN 64 

THE  FAILURE  OF  KING  ARTHUR 65 

FRAGMENT 73 

DEBT ?4 

TRUE  LOVE  is  SUCH  A  SWEET  AND  SACRED  THING  75 


GRIEF 

GRIEF 79 

To  S.  D.  R 80 

To  HER 82 

IMPOTENCE 83 

To  HIM 84 

MARCH  NINETEENTH 86 

FEBRUARY  21sT,  1909      . 87 

FEBRUARY  21sT,  1912 88 

HEART  OF  MY  HEART 89 

THE  GARDEN  IN  THE  WOODS 92 

PAIN  THE  INTERPRETER 93 


IX 


LIFE 


THE    CALL   OF    BROTHERHOOD 

TJAVE  you  heard  it,  the  dominant  call 
*  *  Of  the  city's  great  cry,  and  the  thrall 
And  the  throb  and  the  pulse  of  its  Life, 
And  the  touch  and  the  stir  of  its  Strife, 
As,  amid  the  dread  dust  and  the  din 
It  wages  its  battle  of  Sin? 
Have  you  felt  in  the  crowds  of  the  street 
The  echo  of  mutinous  feet 
As  they  march  to  their  final  release, 
As  they  struggle  and  strive  without  peace? 
Marching  how,  marching  where,  and  to  what! 
Oh!  by  all  that  there  is,  or  is  not, 
We  must  march  too  and  shoulder  to  shoulder. 
If  a  frail  sister  slip,  we  must  hold  her, 
If  a  brother  be  lost  in  the  strain 
Of  the  infinite  pitfalls  of  pain, 
We  must  love  him  and  lift  him  again. 
For  we  are  the  Guarded,  the  Shielded, 
And  yet  we  have  wavered  and  yielded 
To  the  sins  that  we  could  not  resist. 
3 


By  the  right  of  the  joys  we  have  missed, 
By  the  right  of  the  deeds  left  undone, 
By  the  right  of  our  victories  won, 
Perchance  we  their  burdens  may  bear 
As  brothers,  with  right  to  our  share. 
The  baby  who  pulls  at  the  breast 
With  its  pitiful  purpose  to  wrest 
The  milk  that  has  dried  in  the  vein, 
That  is  sapped  by  life's  fever  and  drain — 
The  turbulent  prisoners  of  toil, 
Whose  faces  are  black  with  the  soil 
And  scarred  with  the  sins  of  the  soul, 
Who  are  paying  the  terrible  toll 
Of  the  way  they  have  chosen  to  tread, 
As  they  march  on  in  truculent  dread, — 
And  the  Old,  and  the  Weary,  who  fall — 
Oh!  let  us  be  one  with  them  all! 
By  the  infinite  fear  of  our  fears, 
By  the  passionate  pain  of  our  tears, 
Let  us  hold  out  our  impotent  hands, 
Made  strong  by  Jehovah's  commands, 
The  God  of  the  militant  poor, 
Who  are  stronger  than  we  to  endure, 
Let  us  march  in  the  front  of  the  van 
Of  the  Brotherhood  valiant  of  Man! 
4 


VISION 

CRIEND   of   the   People,  purposeful   and 

strong, 

You,  who  would  right  their  Wrong, 
You,  of  the  ardent  eyes 
That  woo  the  glory  of  the  further  skies! 
For  the  glad  answer  of  a  new  Sunrise 
Must  you  then  wait  so  long? 

Oh!  Man  of  Vision!  though  the  rest  be  blind, 

You,  who  do  love  Mankind, 

You,  who  believe 

That  our  fair  Country  shall  indeed  retrieve 

The  promise  of  the  ages.     You  shall  find 

Your  heart's  reprieve. 

With  your  own  motto 
"Spend  and  so  be  spent," 
Your  high  intent 

Makes  of  yourself  a  willing  instrument. 
5 


With  heart  and  soul  afire 

You  do  aspire 

But  to  be  broken,  should  the  cause  require, 

An  arrow  shattered  ere  the  bow  be  bent! 

What  though  the  sordid  sneer! 

They  may  not  hear 

The  cry  of  those 

Who  suffer  the  fierce  throes 

Of  pain  and  hunger  after  deadly  toil. 

Your  Brothers  of  the  Soil 

Follow  your  Beacon  Light 

Away  from  their  dark  night. 

And  in  the  end, 
Though  you  be  spent, 
You,  who  were  glad  to  spend, 
Who  would  not  be 
A  baffled  Moses  with  the  eyes  to  see 
The  far  fruition  of  the  Promised  Land, 
Who  would  not  understand 
How  to  lead  captive  dread  Captivity, 
Who  would  not  even  crave 
A  lost  and  lonely  grave 
Near  Jordan's  wave? 
6 


LINCOLN 

A    MARTYRED  Saint,  he  lies  upon  his  bier, 
**•  While,   with   one   heart,   the   kneeling    nation 

weeps, 

Until  across  the  world  the  knowledge  sweeps 
That  every  sad  and  sacrificial  tear 
Waters  the  seed  to  Patriot  mourners  dear, 
That  flowers  in  love  of  Country.     He  who  reaps 
The  gift  of  martyrdom,  forever  keeps 
His  soul  in  love  of  man,  and  God's  own  fear. 
Great  Prototype  benign  of  Brotherhood — 
Incarnate  of  the  One  who  walked  the  shore 
Of  lonely  lakes  in  distant  Galilee; 
With  patient  purpose  undismayed  he  stood, 
Steadfast  and  unafraid,  and  calmly  bore 
A  Nation's  Cross  to  a  new  Calvary! 


DEATH  AND  THE  SCULPTOR 

SUGGESTED    BY    DANIEL    C.    FRENCH'S    RELIEF 

IV  A  AY  I  not  carve  the  message  of  thine  eyes 

***  That  long  'neath  adamantine  brows  is  hid, 
Oh!  mighty  Sphinx  that  near  the  Pyramid, 

Beneath  the  glamour  of  Egyptian  skies, 

The  riddle  of  the  ages  still  defies? 

Youth  is  my  master — Dauntless  Youth  would  bid 
Me  find  the  answer  underneath  thy  lid 

Where  Life's  solved  mystery  unwritten  lies. 

Lo!  as  I  carve,  I  feel  Death's  ruthless  hand, 
And  I,  so  young,  must  lay  my  instrument 
Away  with  all  my  eager,  ardent  Faith. 

May  it  not  be  that  one  revealing  wand 

Alone  can  point  us  what  the  secret  meant, — 
Interpreter  of  Life — Thy  name  is  Death! 


8 


AMFORTAS 

T  AM  the  Sinner,  purer  than  the  sin, 
-  I  am  the  Doer,  worthier  than  the  deed, 
I  am  the  Loser,  who  was  meant  to  win, 
I,  the  Forswearer,  yet  who  loved  the  Creed. 

I,  the  Inheritor  of  Holiness, 

The  knighted  Guardian  of  the  mystic  Grail, 

Lo!  I  am  lost  in  deep  and  dire  distress, 

For  I  have  loved  the  best,  and  yet  could  fail. 

I  was  the  bearer  of  the  Holy  Spear 
But,  through  my  sin,  the  sacred  Thing  I  bore 
Turned  on  my  breast,  and  what  I  held  most  dear 
Has  left  an  anguished  wound  for  evermore. 

Mine  was  a  soul  freeborn  to  love  the  light 
Astir  with  winged  hope  and  high  emprise, 
Self  slain,  and  chained  to  dark  and  dreadful  night, 
Though  doomed  to  deathlessness,  it  faints  and  dies. 


To  love  the  right,  and  yield  unto  the  wrong, 
To  have  the  best,  and  know  it,  yet  to  lose; 
To  be  the  weak,  though  born  to  be  the  strong, 
To  crave  the  pure,  and  yet  the  loathly  choose. 

Perchance  the  tortured  terror  which  I  bear 
Forever  burning  in  my  bleeding  breast 
Shall  purge  my  sin  and  win  for  me  a  share 
In  the  Redeemer's  gift  of  perfect  Rest. 

I  am  the  Sinner,  purer  than  the  sin, 
I  am  the  Doer,  worthier  than  the  deed, 
I  am  the  Loser,  who  was  meant  to  win, 
I,  the  Forswearer,  yet  who  loved  the  Creed! 


10 


FATE'S  DUEL 

IT  comes  to  all  of  us,  or  soon  or  late, 
And  we  must  buckle  close  our  coat  of  mail; 
Hand  may  not  falter,  nay,  nor  keen  eye  quail 
Before  the  destined  duel  with  our  Fate! 
And  some  who  conquer,  find  they  abdicate 

The  throne  which  was  their  joy;    and  some  who 

fail 

To  win  the  battle,  ardent  still  and  pale, 
Fight  on, — nor  will  the  angry  Gods  placate.— 
But  some,  with  visor  down  to  hide  the  eyes 
That  looked  upon  a  high  Love's  shattered  faith, 
And  some,  whom  Love  relentlessly  passed  by, 
Must  battle  without  hope. — For  them  there  lies 
No  eager  glory  in  Life's  sacrifice, 
No  victory  except  in  loyal  Death! 


11 


REMBRANDT'S    POLISH    RIDER 

WITH  careless  ease,  lithe,  supple,  lissome,  free, 
He  sways  the  rein  with  adolescent  grace, 
And  Youth  is  in  the  ardor  of  his  face; 
His  eyes  are  wells  of  Life's  expectancy, 
The  romance  of  the  wonder  yet  to  be! 
What  will  he  lose  or  win  before  his  race 
Is  gained  or  lost?     Shall  Honor  or  Disgrace 
Crown  or  defame  his  fine,  fair  chivalry? 
Go,  Rider!     Fare  unto  the  Golden  West— 
And  though  the  Master,  with  unerring  hand, 
Hath    fashioned    that    the    frowning    Dark    Tower 

stand 

So  sadly  close — Fear  not — your  gallant  breast 
Shall  never  shrink  before  the  prison  wall — 
No  fetters  could  your  spirit  high  enthrall! 


MATERNITY 

J\yiY  little  one,  thy  Mother's  dreaming  eyes 

*  *  *  Dwell  on  thy  nestling  head  against  her  breast 

With  that  supreme  and  satisfied  surprise, 

Maternity  achieved.     The  strange  behest 

Of  Life  infused  and  made  animate, 

Of  soul  incarnate,  loosened  from  the  spell 

Of  mortal  matter,  and  sent  forth  elate 

To  wing  its  flight  from  that  unfathomed  cell 

Whence  it  was  born,  unto  the  radiant  sun 

That  ever  beckons  to  a  higher  flight; 

The  golden  goal  for  which  the  race  is  run/ 

The  Heavenly  goal  which  is  eternal  light. 

Oh!  dreaming  mother,  dost  thou  recognize 

The  winged  spirit  in  thy  baby's  eyes! 


13 


TO  F.  W. 

OHE  wore  the  crown  of  wife  and  motherhood 

^  With  noble  dignity.     Her  limpid  gaze 

Could  see  beyond  the  weakness  of  men's  ways, 

And  yet  all  human  things  she  understood. 

Not  of  the  world,  yet  in  it,  for  she  would 

Respond  to  Love's  demands — or  blame — or  praise — 

And  spent  herself  in  each  succeeding  day's 

Fair  opportunity  for  doing  good. 

Her  lips  had  quaffed  the  Sacramental  Wine 

Of  High  Communion  from  her  childhood's  Faith; 

Her  eyes  had  early  visioned  the  Divine 

And  found  in  Christ  the  Conqueror  of  Death. 

Serene  amid  the  clamor  and  the  strife 

She  bore  the  lily  of  a  blameless  life! 


14 


T 


MA     BELLE 

I  HE  fine,  fair  cameo  of  her  lovely  face 
Was  like  a  perfect  flower  in  tint  and  hue, 
And  from  her  being,  breathed  the  nameless  grace 
Of  sheltered  woods  and  violets  shy  and  blue. 
She  did  not  seem  to  know  she  was  so  fair; 
Her  tender  cheek  would  flush  with  sweet  surprise, 
When,  sometimes,  we  who  loved  her,  praised  her 

hair 

Or  prized  the  fawn-like  beauty  of  her  eyes. 
Nor  could  we  think  too  much  of  form  or  line, 
Or  dainty  coloring.     The  radiant  soul 
That  from  those  hazel  eyes  was  wont  to  shine 
Seemed  to  be  one  with  God,  and  claimed  the  whole 
Of  Angel  Sisterhood.     Now,  one  of  Them, 
We  reach  toward  Heaven  by  her  garment's  hem! 


15 


FRIENDSHIP 

TTHOUGH  Love  be  deeper,   Friendship  is  more 

wide; 

Like  some  high  plateau  stretching  limitless, 
It  may  not  feel  the  ultimate  caress 

Of  sun-kissed  peaks,  remote  and  glorified, 

But  here  the  light,  with  gentler  winds  allied, 
The  broad  horizon  sweeps,  till  loneliness, 
The  cruel  tyrant  of  the  Soul's  distress, 

In  such  sweet  company  may  not  abide. 

Friendship  has  vision  though  dear  Love  be  blind, 
And  swift  and  full  communion  in  the  fair 
Free  flights  of  high  and  sudden  ecstasy, 

The  broad  excursions  where,  mind  knit  to  mind, 
And  heart  by  heart  renewed,  can  all  things  dare, 
Lit  by  the  fire  of  perfect  sympathy. 


16 


STRETCH  OUT  YOUR  HAND 

STRETCH  out  your  hand  and  take  the  world's 
wide  gift 

Of  Joy  and  Beauty.     Open  wide  your  soul 
Down  to  its  utmost  depths,  and  bare  the  whole 
To  Earth's  prophetic  dower  of  clouds  that  lift 
Their  clinging  shadows  from  the  sunlight's  rift,— 
The  sapphire  symphony  of  seas  that  roll 
Full-breasted  auguries  from  deep  to  shoal, 
Borne  from  dim  caverns  on  the  salt  spray's  drift. 
Open  the  windows  of  your  wondering  heart 
To  God's  supreme  Creation;  make  it  yours, 
And  give  to  other  hearts  your  ample  store; 
For  when  the  whole  of  you  is  but  a  part 
Of  joyous  beauty  such  as  e'er  endures, 
Only  by  giving  can  you  gain  the  more! 


17 


A  SONG  OF  THE  BY-WAYS 


|  SING  to  the  joy  of  the  By-Ways, 
*  The  road  that  is  grass  overgrown, 
That  leads  from  the  dust  of  the  high-ways 
To  the  meadow  that  never  is  mown; 
The  subtle  seduction  of  places 
Where  Silence  her  magic  has  wrought, 
And  the  Dream,  or  the  Vision,  effaces 
The  thralldom  of  thought. 

II 

The  hour  we  wantonly  wasted, 
How  rich  in  its  passing,  how  fleet! 
The  fruit  that  we  should  not  have  tasted, 
How  perilous  transient  and  sweet! 
The  dim  and  unfathomed  recesses 
Where  flushes  the  bud  of  desire, 
The  swift,  half  acknowledged  caresses, 
The  moth  and  the  fire! 
18 


Ill 

Then  search  for  the  flower  that  grows  not 

Except  where  the  pathway  is  blind, 

And  the  breath  of  the  blossom  that  blows  not 

Where  its  beauty  is  easy  to  find; 

The  thrill  of  its  scent  aromatic 

No  gardens  of  ease  ever  give,— 

Where  Life  is  fulfilment  ecstatic, 

And  to  love  is  to  live! 


IV 

For  the  Heart  is  the  Lord  of  the  By- Ways 
And  bids  us  forever  to  climb 
To  the  distant  and  delicate  shy-ways 
Where  even  the  Conqueror,  Time, 
Must  pause  on  his  march  for  a  minute, 
To  yield  us  the  consummate  right 
For  the  sake  of  the  bliss  that  is  in  it 
To  our  Dream  of  Delight. 


19 


MY  COMRADE 

I 

^  a  day  when  Youth  was  winging 
Lo!  I  heard  a  comrade  singing — 
And  he  beckoned  me  and  beckoned 
Till  I  joined  him  on  his  way; 
"Come,"  he  said,  "for  Time  is  flying- 
Age  is  hastening,  Youth  is  dying- 
Come  and  we  will  turn  September 
Back  into  the  bloom  of  May!" 

II 

Oh!  I  thanked  my  Comrade  kindly, 
And  I  followed  him  right  blindly, 
He  was  such  a  merry  fellow 
As  he  sang  his  roundelay; 
All  my  happy  heart  I  showed  him 
For  the  fairy  gift  I  owed  him, 
He  who  taught  me  that  September 
Still  could  hold  the  joy  of  May! 
20 


Ill 

So,  my  Comrade,  I  was  ready 
With  a  spirit  staunch  and  steady, 
Quick  to  snatch  the  fickle  moments 
Of  our  fleeting  holiday. 
How  we  laughed,  the  hours  whiling, 
Though  we  knew  that  no  beguiling 
Could  do  aught  but  cheat  September 
With  a  masquerade  of  May! 


IV 

Sometimes  still  I  hear  him  calling, 
But  the  autumn  leaves  are  falling 
And  his  voice  has  lost  its  lilting, 
Luring  music,  blithe  and  gay— 
And  his  song  is  faint  and  hollow, 
For  I  may  not  rise  and  follow, 
I  who  know  that  bleak  November 
Is  a  mockery  of  May! 


SPRING 

HPHE  budding  promise  of  recurrent  Spring 
*   Has  filled  my  heart  with  all  its  primal  fire, 
And,  like  a  flight  of  birds  upon  the  wing, 
It  soars  celestial  with  the  wild  desire 
For  all  that  was,  when  Youth  and  Love  were 

young— 
Ere  Pain  articulate  had  found  a  tongue. 

There  is  a  fragrance  in  the  ambient  air 

That  breathes  of  Resurrection;  and  the  blue 

Compelling  canopy  that  arches  fair 

Above  our  heads,  would  bid  us  to  renew 

Our  childhood's  Faith  in  Heaven's  sapphire  gate, 

And  once  again  our  souls  rededicate. 

What  if  the  holy  fires  of  youth  are  shaken, 
And  burned  to  dust  before  Life's  arid  waste, — 
One  touch  of  Spring  and  all  our  veins  awaken 
And  crave  once  more  the  lost  delights  to  taste; — 
Undying,  and  reborn,  dim  memories  stir 
The  old,  sweet  pregnancy  of  days  that  were! 


THE  TRAIL  TO  WHITE  TOP 

I 

OH!  the  trail  that  leads  to  White  Top  in  the 
merry  month  of  May, 
What  a  galaxy  of  beauty  we  shall  find  upon  the 

way. 

There  the  haughty  hemlock's  shade  is 
Bending  o'er  the  quaker  ladies 
In   the  gorge   as   deep   as   Hades   where   the   lady 
slippers  stray! 

II 

Would  you  climb  the  dappled  pathway  toward  the 

misty  mountain  height 
You  must  balance  on  your  saddle,  right  to  left, 

and  left  to  right— 

For  the  branches  stoop  and  press  you 
As  a  lover  would  caress  you, 

Begging  only   you   confess   you    greet   their  ardor 
with  delight. 

23 


Ill 

There  the  painted  trillium  glances  from  her  trinity 

of  leaves, 
And  her  sister,  the  Wake-Robin,  nods  serenely 

and  believes 

That  perchance  her  singing  brother 
On  some  rapid  flight  or  other 
Brushed  her  petals  with  a  feather  where  the  bur 
nished  crimson  heaves. 

IV 

Near  the  rocks  the  wild  azalea,  flaring  in  an  orange 

flame, 
Leans    above    the    mandrake    blossom,    hiding 

'neath  her  leaf  in  shame — 
And  Clintonia  Umbellata 
Gleams  beside  the  laughing  water 
Like  a  monarch's  royal  daughter  who  disdains  a 
common  name! 

V 

As  we  climb  we  see  Elk  Garden,  with  its  broad 

and  grassy  sweep, 

And    the    crown    of    black    old    Balsam    casting 
shadows  long  and  deep, 

24 


But  we  mount  forever  higher 
Where  the  wind  plays  like  a  lyre, 
And  the  sunset's  sudden  fire  falls  on  summits  wild 
and  steep. 

VI 

Here  the  delicate  Spring  beauty  clambers  up  the 

mountain  side, 
And  the  wind  flower  swaying  gently,  pristine  as 

a  pallid  bride, 

White  Top's  children  shyly  peeping 
From  the  undergrowth  where  creeping 
Pine  and  fir  their  tryst  are  keeping,  though  we  crush 
them  as  we  ride. 

VII 

Now   we   scale    the   final    hillock,    and   before    our 

wondering  eyes 
Range   on   range   of   mountains   rising   from   the 

valley  to  the  skies, 
Far  unto  the  dim  horizon- 
Peak  on  peak  the  faint  flush  lies  on, 
And    the   young    moon's    shadow    dies    on    myriad 
purple  mysteries. 

25 


VIII 

Oh!  the  trail  that  leads  to  White  Top— When  the 

days  are  cold  and  gray, 
And  the  winter  nights  are  chilly,  how  I  long  to 

wend  my  way 

Back  to  Springtime  and  its  glory, 
There  where  Life's  an  untold  story 
On  the  trail   to  White  Top   hoary   in   the  merry 
month  of  May! 


JUNE 

HTHE  frail  felicity  of  April  hours 
*    Has  yielded  to  the  prescient  joy  of  May— 
And  she,  in  turn,  has  laid  her  fragrant  flowers 
Upon  the  altar  of  this  perfect  day. 
The  spring  with  lavish  hand  her  incense  spilled, 
An  ardent  acolyte  to  June  fulfilled. 

June  in  the  meadow,  lush  with  living  green, 
June  on  the  hill  side,  soft  with  waving  grain, 
June  in  the  rich  completion  of  the  scene, 
June  in  the  fulness  of  the  thrush's  strain— 
And   yet!   Ah!   June,   must   you,   too,   wend   your 

way — 
Have  you  no  potent  spell  Time's  hand  to  stay? 


AFTER  LONG  LIFE 

AFTER  long  life  if  I  could  be  bereft 
**  Of  this  Earth's  passion  and  its  endless  pain, 
And  then,  if  I  could  live  my  life  again 
As  one  by  Death  forgotten  and  Youth  left, 
I  wonder  would  I  long,  with  all  the  deft 
Desires  of  my  now  free,  unshackled  brain 
To  enter  Life's  arena?     Would  I  gain- 
No  more  'twixt  hope  and  mortal  anguish  cleft — 
A  disembodied  view  of  soul  and  sense, 
A  swift  solution  of  the  mystery 
Of  Life's  great  pageant,  and  the  poor  pretense 
Of  Heaven's  high-handed  Inconsistency? 
So  visioned,  would  I  still  kneel  unto  God, 
Or  yield  obeisance  to  the  soulless  sod? 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION 

MY  heart  is  weary  with  the  world's  distress, 
The  cry  of  those  who  struggle  in  the  night. 
Oh!  Lord,  who  sent  thy  Son  for  our  redress, 
We  pray  thee  as  of  old  "Let  there  be  light!" 
I  would  not  ask  the  "Why"  nor  pierce  the  veil; 
All  that  I  long  for  is  to  know,  behind 
The  torture,  and  the  terror,  and  the  wail 
Of  human  woe,  there  is  no  cruel,  blind, 
Unreasoning  Chance,  that  hurls  us  here  and  there, 
Victims  of  an  insensate  Tyranny; 
I  would  not  ask  the  Cause,  but  this  my  prayer— 
To  know  there  is  a  Cause  for  Misery; 
Could  I  but  see  the  working  of  Thy  Hand 
I  should  be  willing  not  to  understand! 


PRAYER 


me,  oh!  Lord,  the  attitude  of  prayer! 
My  joys,  my  griefs,  my  sins,  to  lay  them  all 
At  Thy  dear  feet!  —  I  would  not  prostrate  fall, 
But  I  would  have  my  spirit  always  there. 
From  such  a  vantage  point,  could  I  not  bear 
The  fierce  temptations  which  my  heart  enthrall, 
And  with  Thy  help  so  lift  the  heavy  pall 
Of  anguished  grief.     Perchance  if  I  could  share 
Each  secret  thought  and  raise  it  unto  Thee, 
Just  as  the  dew  is  lifted  from  the  flower 

By  the  great  Sun's  benign  compelling  ray, 
My  faltering  glance  could  so  Thy  beauty  see, 
Until  my  spirit  drawn  by  Thy  pure  power 
Would  turn  to  prayer  as  night  must  turn  to  day. 


30 


DEATH 

T  AM  the  Master  of  the  Secret  Road, 
*   Silent  I  stand  behind  the  half  closed  door. 
And  you,  who  shrink  the  blind,  black  path  before, 
Though  driven  by  the  inexorable  goad, 
You,  who  have  paid  to  Life  the  debt  you  owed, 
Good  coin  or  bad,  from  scant  or  ample  store, 
Poor  Pilgrim,  furtive-footed  on  my  shore, 
May  it  not  be  that  I  shall  lift  your  load? 
Then,  with  undaunted  brow,  come  woo  my  eyes 
And  lay  in  mine  nor  cold,  nor  craven  hand — 
May  you  not  thrill  as  one  with  sweet  surprise 
Who  finds  a  friend  beloved  in  alien  land? 
Perchance  my  face  you  thus  shall  recognize 
And  all  my  secrets  fitly  understand! 


31 


HEROISM 


THE  TITANIC 

THE  LUST  FOR  SPEED 

PROLOGUE 

T  AM  the  Juggernaut 
*   Crushing  beneath  my  wheel 
All  that  is  finest  wrought; 
Iron  and  wood  and  steel 
Shatter  and  writhe  and  reel, 
Yielding  before  my  greed — 
I  am  the  Lust  for  Speed! 

What  do  I  care  for  cries, 
What  unto  me  are  throes, 
What  do  I  reck  who  dies — 
I  am  the  will  of  those, 
Who  from  the  phalanx  rose, 
Captains  of  Business  Need — 
I  am  the  Lust  for  Speed! 
35 


Lo!  I  must  make  my  way 
O'er  the  vast  Continent, 
I  must  hold  Time  at  bay, 
Rush  till  the  rails  be  rent 
Reek  from  the  girders  bent, 
Mine  is  the  criminal  deed— 
I  am  the  Lust  for  Speed. 

And  when  the  Ocean's  toll 
Reaches  to  hundred  score, 
When  Death's  defiant  roll 
Clamors  for  more  and  more 
Than  ever  claimed  before; 
What  though  my  victims  plead- 
I  am  the  Lust  for  Speed! 

I  must  the  record  break, 
I  must  be  ever  first, 
None  shall  my  laurels  take, 
Mine  is  the  burning  thirst 
Bred  from  the  greed  accursed; 
Nor  shall  a  rival  lead — 
I  am  the  Lust  for  Speed! 


ENVOI 

Captains  of  Industry, 
Pause  but  a  single  hour! 
Those  who  so  silent  lie 
Voice  my  malignant  power; 
This  is  their  final  dower, 
Death  and  Despair  decreed- 
By  the  fell  Lust  for  Speed. 


37 


PARTING 

OELOVED,  you  must  go — ask  not  to  stay, — 
<*— '  You  are  a  mother  and  your  duties  call, 

And  we,  who  have  so  long  been  all  in  all, 
Must  put  the  human  side  of  life  away. 
For  one  brief  moment  let  us  stand  and  pray, 

Sealed  in  the  thought  that  whatsoe'er  befall 

We,   who  have  known  the    freedom   and    the 

thrall 

Of  a  great  love,  in  death  shall  feel  its  sway. — 
You,  who  must  live,  because  of  his  dear  need, 

You  are  the  one  to  bear  the  harder  part — 

Nay,  do  not  cling — 'tis  time  to  say  good-by. 
Think  of  me  then  but  as  a  spirit  freed, 

Flesh   of   my   Flesh,  and  Heart  of  my  own 
Heart, 

The  love  we  knew  has  made  me  strong  to  die! 


TOGETHER 

I   CANNOT  leave  you,  ask  me  not  to  go, 
*   Love  of  my  youth  and  all  my  older  years— 

We,  who  have  met  together  smiles  or  tears, 
Feeling  that  each  did  but  make  closer  grow 
The  union  of  our  hearts — Ah!  say  not  so 

That  Death  shall  find  us  separate.     All  my  fears 

Are  but  to  lose  you.     Life  itself  appears 
A  trifling  thing — But  one  great  truth  I  know, 
When  heart  to  heart  has  been  so  closely  knit 

That   Flesh   has   been   one   Flesh   and   Soul   one 

Soul, 

Life  is  not  life  if  they  are  rent  apart, 
And  death  unsevered  is  more  exquisite 

As  we,  who  have  known  much,  shall  read  the  whole 
Of  Life's  great  secret  on  each  other's  heart. 


39 


THE  MEN 

WOMEN  and  children  all 
First  to  the  boat! 
Quick  to  the  crucial  call 
Lower — and  float — 
Only  a  swift  good-by, 
Meeting — ah  when? 
And  we  are  left  to  die — 
We  are  the  men! 


Ours  is  the  better  fate, 

Would  we  then  live? 

They,  without  son  or  mate — 

May  God  forgive 

This  untold  sacrifice. 

Courage!  again, 

Under  the  starlit  skies — 

We  are  the  men! 


Steerage  and  financier 
Answer  the  roll, 
Each  with  his  duty  clear, 
Peace  to  his  soul, 
40 


Though  the  great  ocean  roar 
Victor — what  then! 
Heroes  for  evermore, 
We  are  the  men! 


TO  A.  W.  B. 

TTERE'S  to  you,  gallant  friend, 

*  *   Gentle  and  brave, 

You,  who  full  fathom  deep 

Lie  'neath  the  wave. 

You  were  a  soldier  still 

Up  to  the  last, 

Doing  your  Captain's  will 

As  in  the  past. 

Not  from  a  bullet's  flight, 
Not  under  arms, 
But  in  the  Ocean's  night 
Of  wild  alarms. 
Calm  in  the  midst  of  fears, 
Taking  command, 
Courage!  in  spite  of  tears 
For  Fatherland. 
41 


We  who  have  known  you  long, 

Gallant  and  gay, 

First  in  the  dance  and  song, 

Pleasure  and  play, 

Knew,  too,  the  valiant  soul 

That  would  stand  by 

(Women  and  children  first!) — 

Ready  to  die! 


THE  ENGINEER! 


WORK,  work,  work, 
Down  in  the  ship's  deep  hold. 
Was  there  a  man  would  shirk? 
They  of  the  tale  untold; 
Down  by  the  hot  flames  fanned, 
Theirs  was  the  cruel  part; 
They  of  the  tireless  hand, 
They  of  the  dauntless  heart! 
42 


II 

Boys!  we  must  keep  her  straight, 
She  is  a  gallant  boat, 
Worthy  a  better  fate, 
Finest  of  all  afloat — 
Now,  as  the  Wireless  Call 
Sweeps  the  encircling  sea, 
Here  in  this  prisoned  wall 
It's  up  to  you  and  me!" 

Ill 

Work,  work,  work, 
Water  is  creeping  higher, 
Was  there  a  man  would  shirk? 
Engines  must  have  their  fire. 
Up  on  the  ship's  great  deck 
Many  are  careless  still, 
They,  in  the  deep  hold's  wreck, 
Work  with  an  iron  will. 

IV 

Knowing  they  have  no  hope 
When  she  must  list  and  lunge, 
Never  a  piece  of  rope, 
Theirs  is  a  fettered  plunge, — 
43 


Fires  are  out, — and  cold 
Rises  the  fluent  fear,— 
Here's  to  the  tale  untold, 
Here's  to  the  Engineer! 


THE  WIRELESS  TOWER 


HPHE  "ambulance  call  of  the  sea" 
*     Winging  its  frenzied  flight — 
Hark!  'tis  the  C  Q  D 

Rushed  through  the  breathless  night! 
"Sister  Ships,  do  you  hear? 

Hurry,  turn  on  your  trail. — 
Is  there  none  that  is  near? 

Quick  or  your  quest  will  fail!" 

II 

Like  an  insistent  hand, 

Searching  the  baffling  dark, 

Far  from  the  tranquil  land 
Travels  the  gallant  spark. 
44 


Fingers  frozen  and  numb, 

Phillips,  and  pale  young  Bride — 
"Hurry!  Danger!  and  Come!" 

Working  there  side  by  side — 

III 

"Sister  Ships,  do  you  hear 

Carpathia,  Olympic?"     At  last! 
"Courage!  have  a  good  cheer— 

Lo!  we  are  coming  fast. 
Turned  on  our  tracks  are  we 

Sped  with  our  utmost  speed, 
Over  the  icy  sea, 

Racing  to  meet  your  need!" 

IV 

Whose  is  the  pallid  face? 

"Down  we  sink,  by  the  head, 
Boys!  you  may  leave  your  place, 

Each  for  himself!"  he  said. 
Fingers  frozen  and  numb, 

Phillips,  and  pale  young  Bride — 
Hist!  to  the  dogged  hum, 

Working  there  side  by  side. 
45 


V 

Hark!  to  the  S  O  S 

"Down  we  go,  by  the  head — 
Quick!  we  are  in  distress, 

Hurry  to  aid,"  it  said. — 
"Phillips!  we  must  not  stay, 

Come,  there  is  no  more  time." 
Yet  does  the  Wireless  play, 

Beating  its  rhythmic  rhyme, — 

VI 

"Down  we  go,  by  the  head," 
Splutter — and  dot — and  dash — 

Darkness!     Peace  to  the  Dead! 
Silenced  the  dauntless  flash. 


46 


THE   BAND 


THE  boats  are  lowered,  floating  on  the  sea, 
And  as  the  men,  with  silent  courage,  stand, 
Like  to  a  battle  call  of  minstrelsy, 
A  sudden  volume  sweeps.     Oh!  Gallant  Band,— 
Calmly,  as  if  on  terraced  garden  green, 
The  liquid  music  lifts  to  starlit  skies, 
As  though  the  breathless  horror  of  the  scene 
AYere  but  a  prelude  unto  Paradise. 


II 

The  sweet,  old  hymn  that  every  little  child 
Has  learned  to  whisper  at  his  mother's  knee, 
Perchance,  at  that  dread  moment,  reconciled 
Each  doubting  heart  to  meet  Eternity. 
The  flute  and  cornet,  cello,  violin, 
Not  one  was  missing  from  the  accustomed  place, 
And  wafting  sound,  above  the  water's  din, 
Followed  each  warrior  to  his  resting  place. 


47 


Ill 

No  hope  forlorn,  by  martial  music  led, 
Was  ever  cheered  by  anthem  more  inspired; 
Each  hero,  now  amongst  the  deathless  Dead, 
Ready  to  meet  his  fate,  with  ardor  fired, 
Owed  his  last  debt  to  those  who,  unafraid 
Though  face  to  face  with  Death  that  was  to  be, 
With  valiant  hearts  and  hands  so  firmly  played 
Unto  the  end,  their  Requiem  of  the  Sea! 


48 


LOVE 


AWAKENING 

THE  tender  glamour  of  the  dreamy  days 
Before  Love's  full  effulgence  was  complete 
Dwells  in  my  soul.     The  dim  untrodden  ways 
That  wooed  our  eager  yet  reluctant  feet; 
The  mute  communion  of  our  meeting  eyes, 
The  hand's  elusive  touch,  when  still  no  word 
With  its  supreme  significant  surprise 
The  pregnant  passions  of  our  beings  stirred; 
The  shadowy  dawn  of  unawakened  pain, 
Love's  Counterpart,  with  its  evasive  thrill, 
Haunted  our  hearts,  and  like  the  minor  strain 
Of  some  great  anthem  ere  the  sound  is  still, 
Mingled  with  all  the  rapture  yet  to  be 
A  note  of  anguish  in  its  harmony! 


51 


LOVE  HAS  A  MYRIAD  OF 
WINNING  WAYS 

T    OVE  has  a  myriad  of  winning  ways 

••— '  Beside  the  wells  of  his  deep  tenderness, 

The  frolic  of  his  fugitive  caress 

As  in  my  hair  his  wanton  finger  strays, 

The  lyric  laughter  of  his  witching  gaze 

That  draws  my  own,  reluctant,  to  confess 

The  swift  response  that  borders  on  distress, 

So  clearly  it  my  willing  heart  betrays. 

Love  sometimes  makes  a  petulant  pretense 

Of  injured  dignity  that  he  doth  feign, 

As  though,  in  truth,  his  wayward  heart  did  swell 

With  artless  ardor  in  his  own  defence, — 

A  playful  parody  of  poignant  pain, 

Created  only  to  enhance  his  spell! 


LOVE  IS  A  BEGGAR 

T    OVE  is  a  beggar,  most  importunate, 

J— '  Uncalled     he     comes     and     makes     his    dear 

demands. 

He  storms  my  heart  which  doth  capitulate 
And  then  he  asks  the  homage  of  my  hands. 
He  claims  my  eyes,  and  wistfully  they  turn, 
He  craves  my  lips,  half-willingly  they  yield 
Their  soft  obeisance  to  his  own  that  burn 
With  potent  passion  in  the  power  they  wield. 
And  when,  with  Woman's  faith,  I  give  my  whole, 
I  wonder  if  dear  Love  doth  recognize 
That,  with  it  all,  unless  he  claim  my  soul, 
He  gives  me  naught  and  asks  but  sacrifice! 
For  Love,  if  Love  be  Love,  should  wish  no  dole, 
Nor  eyes,  nor  lips,  nor  heart,  without  the  Soul! 


ONE  HOUR 


ONATCHED  from  the  greedy  hand  of  ruthless 

^         Time, 

We  saved  one  hour  of  golden  afternoon. 

Oh!  Love,  it  seemed  our  hearts,  as  one,  did  chime 

In  subtle  symphony;  and  so  in  tune 

Our  spirits  were,  that  speech  was  hardly  part 

Of  the  deep  language  of  the  happy  heart. 

II 

The  sunset  lingered  in  the  misty  sky, 

Till  dim  cloud  shadows  in  the  water  grew, 

And  lilting  reed-birds  from  the  rushes,  by 

The  gliding  stream,  across  our  vision  flew, 

With  low,  sweet  cries,  as  though  to  thrill  the  ear 

With  the  close  thought  that  Nature  was  so  near. 


54 


Ill 

We  seemed  in  unison  with  bird  and  flower, 

At  one  with  all  the  soft  and  sensuous  light; 

I  thought  of  Danae  in  her  golden  shower 

And  felt  the  God  had  claimed  me  as  his  right— 

The  terrible,  strong  God  whom  men  call  Love, 

Who  rules  "the  Earth  below,  the  Heavens  above!" 

IV 

And  yet,  in  that  sweet  hour,  the  Soul  was  King! 

And  held  the  heart  in  pure  and  potent  sway,— 

And  we  can  ever  to  that  memory  bring 

The  grateful  knowledge  that  our  perfect  day, 

With  all  its  essence  of  a  mortal  union, 

Was  touched  with  high  and  Heavenly  communion. 


55 


"AMOR  SCONSOLATO" 

WRITTEN    FOR    THE    FIGURE    CARVED    BY    PHILIP    SMITH 

r  I  ^HE  broken  lyre  is  lying  at  thy  feet, 
•1  All   hushed    and    mute    the    rich    and    vibrant 

strings — 

Oh!  Love  disconsolate,  with  drooping  wings, 
Must  thou  forego  the  music  once  so  sweet? 
Yet  that  deep  note,  forever  incomplete, 
Its  haunting  melody  through  memory  sings, — 
Lost,  unfulfilled,  triumphant  still  it  rings 
Once  perfect  chord,  soon  silent,  full  but  fleet! 
My  broken  heart  lies  crushed  within  thy  hand, 
Dumb  as  the  severed  lyre's  harmony, 
No  more  a  magnet  to  thy  magic  wand, 
It  lies  inert — Lean,  lowlier,  Love!  and  see 
The  hidden  symbol  by  thy  sad  wings  fanned — 
Death  is  Love's  Hostage — Immortality. 


56 


UNFULFILLED 

T  READ  the  pain  and  pathos  of  your  eyes, 
*  The  aftermath  of  anguish  in  your  smile, 
And  yet  I  can  but  envy  you  the  while! 
Your  heart  has  bled,  an  ardent  sacrifice 
To  Love's  fulfilment.     You  have  paid  the  price 
Of  keen,  fierce  living;  nor  can  aught  defile 
The  joys  that  once  have  been — they  still  beguile 
The  tear-swept  memory  that  Time  defies. 
My  soul's  adventure,  pallid,  incomplete, 
Has  lingered  in  the  twilight,  for  my  heart 
Has  dwelt  aloof  in  some  dim  atmosphere 
Betwixt  the  Earth  and  Heaven.     My  alien  feet 
Have  known  nor  Pain  nor  its  great  counterpart. 
I,  who  have  never  loved,  may  shed  no  tear! 


57 


THE  LESSER  PART 

T  TAD  I  been  true  to  my  deep  loneliness, 

*  •*•  Nor  sought  a  lesser  love  to  soothe  my  grief, 

Had  I  been  willing  not  to  find  relief, 

But  so  to  live,  companioned  by  distress, 

I,  sometimes,  to  my  inner  soul  confess 

The  fierce  and  inarticulate  belief 

That  such  despair  forever  held  in  fief 

Could  heal  my  spirit  better  than  caress. 

I  have  done  nothing  wrong — I  only  take 

A  human  love  that  longed  to  lift  my  woe, 

I  only  give  a  tender  sympathy, 

And  yet — ah!  yet,  I  sometimes  long  to  wake 

Alone,  to  taste  again  the  bitter  throe 

Of  loveless  and  unsolaced  misery. 


58 


THE  BETTER  PART 

I   LOVED  you  and  I  lost  you  long  ago, 
And  though  the  life  within  me  wells  in  Spring 
With  sudden  joy  in  every  living  thing, 
'Tis  but  a  fitful  fever,  for  I  know 
I  may  not  feel  the  glamour  and  the  glow 
That  one  dear  presence  never  failed  to  bring; 
And  though  my  ravaged   heart  may  sometimes 

sing, 

Its  music  cannot  lose  the  note  of  woe. 
So  though  Love  plead  to  give  surcease  from  pain, 
I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.     My  heart 

Would  lose  its  life  with  its  dear  loneliness. 
I  am  of  those  who  may  not  love  again, 

Who  find  the  bleeding  wound  the  better  part, 
And  Grief  assuaged,  but  Grief  without  redress. 


59 


DISILLUSION 

TF  I  could  sleep  and  dream  that  love  were  true, 

*   Had  e'er  been  true,  unsullied  and  supreme, 

I'd  gladly  forfeit  all  the  bliss  I  knew 

And  all  I  ever  could  know.     Blessed  dream, 

Lay  on  my  weary  eyes  eternal  sleep, 

For  now  they  never  open  but  to  weep — 

If  I  could  count  from  off  their  bitter  span 
The  days  of  disillusion  I  have  known, 
The  cruel  knowledge  that  the  heart  of  man 
Has  never  climbed  the  heights,  has  never  grown 
Through  passion  purified  to  peaks  sublime, 
Would  I  not  barter  all  that's  left  of  Time? 


60 


IF  SOME  FAIR  ANGEL 

IF  some  fair  angel  from  the  Upper  World, 
With  silent  steps  and  pinions  softly  furled, 
Could  lay  cool  hands  upon  these  tired  eyes, 
Once  more  the  scalding  tears  might  be  empearled. 

Perchance,  if  it  could  feel  such  sweet  caress 
The  Heart  could  conquer  its  own  bitterness, 

And  once  again,  through  pity  and  through  love, 
The  Soul  be  loosened  from  this  dark  distress! 


61 


LOVE   AND   UNFAITH 

WE,  who  have  loved,  and  from  our  Faith  have 
faltered, 

And  made  of  Love  a  desecrated  thing, 
How  can  we  bear  to  face  the  God  we've  altered? 

Like  some  great  eagle  on  a  broken  wing, 
No  more  our  Love  can  rise  to  heights  transcendent 

Where  glows  the  light  that  ne'er  on  sea  or  shore 
Has  shone  except  for  those  whose  love  resplendent 

Has  lent  them  wings  of  fire  on  which  to  soar. 
From  that  dim  region  which  our  Souls  inherit 

We  bore  the  promise  of  a  pristine  flame; 
Alas!  that  we,  who  knew  the  holy  Spirit, 

Should  clasp  a  lifeless  ghost  without  a  name. 
How  empty  now  the  way  through  Heaven's  portal, 
Since  Faith  has  failed  and  Love  is  not  immortal! 


LOVE   AND   FAITH 

I  laughed,  and  you  echoed  my  laughter, 
I  wept,  and  you  mirrored  my  tears, 
But  when  life  is  over,  and  after 
The  tender  enchantment  of  years, 
Is  there  aught  in  high  Heaven  to  discover 
That  our  intimate  joy  may  transcend. 
For  I  found  in  the  heart  of  a  lover 
The  faith  of  a  friend! 

It  may  be  the  part  that  was  spirit, 
God  lent  as  a  shield  for  our  fight, 
And  we  who  were  worthy  to  bear  it 
Shall  lift  it  aloft  in  our  flight 
To  the  ultimate  regions  of  ether, 
Where  Faith  holds  the  key  to  the  Throne, 
And  Love,  kneeling  proudly  beneath  her, 
Our  victory  has  won. 


THE    FORGOTTEN    COUNTER 
SIGN 

T    IFE  met  me  on  the  threshold — young,  divine, 

*— '  And  promised  me  unutterable  things; 

And  Love,  with  fragrant  greeting  on  his  wings, 

Looked  in  my  eyes  and  laid  his  lips  on  mine, 

And  bade  me  quaff  the  magic  of  his  wine 

That  deep  delight,  or  disillusion  brings. 

Ah!  had  I  kept  my  fair  imaginings, 

I  had  not  lost  the  Heavenly  Countersign; 

The  Shibboleth  of  soul  supremacy; 

The  dower  from  my  birth  in  higher  spheres. 

Then  might  I  know  the  purer  ecstasy 

Of  conquering  Earth's  test  of  alien  tears, — 

And  Life,  perchance,  her  promise  might  redeem, 

And  Love  be  more  than  a  delusive  dream! 


64 


THE  FAILURE  OF  KING  ARTHUR 

EIGHT  SONNETS 
SHE  SPEAKS 


TF  some  fierce  wind  of  hot  and  alien  breath 
^  Had  swept  the  petals  from  my  pure  white  rose, 
I  had  been  more  content  to  watch  the  throes 
Of  such  complete  and  devastating  death, 
Than  to  have  seen  it  marred.     For  mortal  Faith 
Accepts  the  wild  tornado  when  it  blows, 
And,  sooner  than  a  bleeding  wound  disclose, 
Lays  on  its  buried  hopes  the  final  wreath. 
But  when  the  fitful  gust  of  man's  desire 
Leaves  on  the  spotless  bloom  of  Love  a  scar, 
Barters  its  beauty  for  a  transient  hour 
Of  lesser  Love,  that  cannot  claim  the  power 
To  wake  within  the  breast  a  lasting  fire- 
Then  must  high  Heaven  mourn  a  fallen  star! 

65 


II 

Perchance  I  could  have  better  borne  the  pain 

Of  knowing  Love  so  infinitely  frail, 

Had  it  not  been  your  hand  that  did  disdain 

To  guard  me  from  the  falling  of  the  flail. 

I  was  secure  in  my  sublime  belief 

That  human  passion  bordered  on  divine. 

How  could  I  dream  that  you  would  be  the  thief 

To  rob  my  cup  of  its  immortal  wine? 

Drained  to  the  dregs,  the  empty  glass  I  fling 

Down  the  dim  path  of  disillusioned  years; 

The  Rose  of  Time  is  withered  in  its  Spring, 

The  Wine  of  Life  transfused  in  bitter  tears, 

And  on  my  lips  is  left  the  tainted  taste 

Of  Love  once  holy  turned  to  wanton  waste! 


66 


Y 


HE  ANSWERS 

III 

OU,  who  have  suffered  much  because  I  failed, 


This  bitter  anguish  you  can  never  know — 
To  see  in  eyes  you  love  the  utter  woe 
Of  one  whose  heart  unto  a  cross  is  nailed. 
Must  those  dear  eyes  forever  be  half  veiled 
As  though  afraid  to  meet  the  cruel  blow 
Of  disillusion?     Ah!  how  faint  their  glow- 
Poor,  martyred  spirits  by  their  love  impaled. 
Beloved,  I  would  give  my  days  to  this, 
Could  I  but  render  back  the  joy  you  miss, 
And  lift  the  load  I  laid,  the  deep  distress. 
I,  by  whose  hand  your  soul  was  rudely  torn — 
Is  not  my  fate  more  frustrate  and  forlorn, 
To  rob  the  one  I  love  of  Happiness? 


67 


IV 

DELOVED,  do  you  know  that  when  you  weep: 

*-*    My  heart  weeps  too  in  unison  with  tears 

That  water  the  lost  joy  of  all  our  years? 

Be  it  your  will  that  I  forever  steep 

My  soul  in  this  despair,  I  gladly  reap 

The  pain  I  sowed  and  pay  my  Faith's  arrears, 

If  I  could  but  dispel  your  soul's  sick  fears 

And  for  your  spirit  its  sad  vigil  keep. 

Teach  me,  my  own,  some  ardent  sacrifice 

To  win  the  gladness  back  to  your  dear  eyes, 

Some  antidote  to  this  eternal  pain. 

What  would  I  give  if  I  could  bear  a  part 

Of  what  I  have  inflicted  on  your  heart, 

And  by  my  torture  let  you  live  again! 


68 


IN  vain! — The  punishment  that  I  must  bear, 
The  bitter  price  that  I  must  always  pay 
Is  that  I  cannot  wash  the  stain  away 
Which  I  have  made  upon  a  love  so  fair. 
I  sometimes  think,  that,  dark  though  the  despair, 
Which  binds  your  being  in  relentless  sway, 
It  does  not  your  sad  heart  more  fiercely  slay 
Than  the  remorse  in  mine  beyond  compare- 
To  give,  and  have  the  fulness  of  return, 
To  love  as  few  have  loved,  and  then  to  mar 
That  spotless  love  by  a  belittling  scar 
Which  must  a  soul  beloved  forever  burn. 
What  anguish  can  be  greater  than  to  know 
One  you  would  shield  is  bleeding  from  your  blow! 


69 


SHE   SPEAKS 

VI 

T    OVE  comes  to  me,  and  knocks  at  my  sad  heart, 
*- '  And  bids  me  let  him  in  that  he  may  heal 
The  cruel  wound  that  will  not  cease  to  smart 
Which  Love  himself  has  made.     I  would  not  steel 
Myself  against  his  dear  and  pleading  voice, 
Ah!  no,  with  ardor  would  I  fain  forgive; 
But,  though  I  long  with  passion  to  rejoice, 
And  once  again  the  old  sweet  rapture  live, — 
In  vain!  for  naught  can  break  the  iron  bars 
That  hold  my  prisoned  and  enfettered  soul. 
And  I,  who  once  was  kin  unto  the  stars, 
Who  soared  triumphant  to  Life's  utmost  goal, 
Must  dwell  in  wingless  depths  because  I  know 
Had  Love  been  true  I  could  not  suffer  so! 


70 


HE  ANSWERS  AGAIN 

VII 

1KNOW  you  love  me  still,  for  all  the  blue 
And  ardent  glances  of  your  tender  eyes 
Can  never  feign,  or  you  would  not  be  you; 
And  yet  in  your  high  heart  you  do  despise 
The  thing  I  did,  and  swift  resentments  rise 
That  I,  unto  myself  was  so  untrue, 
That  I  could  stain  the  perfect  love  I  knew, 
That  I  could  so  defile  my  life's  set  prize! 
You  love  me,  yes,  and  yet  you  hate  the  sin 
Against  our  love's  convincing  purity; 
I  mourn  with  you  for  what  I  might  have  been, 
High  priest  of  loyal  Love's  security- 
There  is  no  thought  that  crucifies  your  heart 
But  in  my  vain  regret  doth  bear  its  part. 


71 


SHE  SPEAKS  ONCE  MORE 

VIII 

DELOVED,  you  have  taught  me  to  forgive, — 
*~*     Your  strong  and  fervent  effort  to  redeem 
Has  quickened  my  dead  heart  and  made  it  live, 

And  though  I  mourn  the  glory  of  my  dream 
I  see  that  my  own  love  was  faint  and  frail 

To  meet  the  disillusion  of  your  need. 
I  could  not  bear  to  know  that  you  could  fail, 

Nor   have   you   lean   where   you   were   wont   to 

lead — 
But  now  you  lead  again.     Your  deep  remorse 

Has  won  my  fainting  soul  to  higher  flight, 
And  all  the  bitter  anguish  and  the  loss 

Have  been  the  magnets  to  a  purer  light. 
We,  who  have  fallen  but  to  rise  again, 
Perchance  have  won  the  victory  of  pain! 


FRAGMENT 

T^HE  dreamy  drift  of  honeysuckle  scent, 
*    A  sensuous  breath  of  beauty  on  the  night — 
And  we  who  shared  the  intimate  delight 
Of  Life  and  Love  with  youth  and  rapture  blent! 
For  such  complete  communion  we  were  meant — 
To  be  but  one  in  thought,  and  that  thought  right, 
To  love  the  lovely  and  to  find  the  Light! 


73 


DEBT 

WHAT  do  you  owe  me,  Love  of  all  my  Years? 
Not  love,  ah!  no,  for  love  can  not  be  owed. 
Love  must  be  free,  accepted  or  bestowed, 
E'en  though  we  pay  its  price  with  bitter  tears! 

But  this  one  debt  you  owe,  that  fearlessly 
Your  eyes  shall  meet  the  candor  of  my  eyes; 
No  veiled  untruth  may  desecrate  the  prize 

Of  a  great  Love's  untarnished  memory! 


TRUE  LOVE  IS  SUCH  A  SWEET 
AND  SACRED  THING 

TRUE  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing! 
When  I  am  with  the  One  who  understands, 
I  need  not  touch  her  lips  nor  clasp  her  hands, 
Just  to  be  near  her  makes  my  glad  heart  sing — 
True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing! 

True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing 
That  sometimes,  when  I  cannot  have  a  word, 
I  feel  as  though  her  tenderness  I  heard, 
A  full  communion  that  the  thought  may  bring- 
True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing! 

True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing 

That  often  when  my  ardent  spirit  stirs 

In  rich  and  rhythmic  unison  with  hers, 

I  almost  hear  its  mystic  murmuring— 

True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing! 

75 


True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing 
That  all  of  beauty  is  intensified, 
The  world  is  so  much  fairer  at  her  side, 
So  much  more  exquisite  the  bloom  of  Spring — 
True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing! 

True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing 
That  even  Death  might  lose  for  me  its  dread, 
If  that  dim  hour  could  be  interpreted 
Through  her  pure  soul  that  lifts  me  on  its  wing — 
True  love  is  such  a  sweet  and  sacred  thing! 


76 


GRIEF 

TO  S.  J>.  B. 


GRIEF 


THE  hollow  waking  ere  the  cruel  dawn 
Has  brought  the  fulness  of  my  conscious  pain, 
The  effort  of  the  numb  and  weary  brain 
To  know  by  what  pale  torture  it  is  torn, 
To  comprehend  the  burden  it  has  borne 
Through  fitful  sleep,   where  ardent  dreams  would 

fain 

Dispel  the  horror  on  the  spirit  lain, 
And  by  fair  visions  cheat  a  fate  forlorn. 
Before  I  fully  face  the  day's  blank  grief— 
This  misery  of  waking  grips  my  soul, 
Till  fiercer  anguish  were  perchance  relief 
And,  better  than  so  nebulous  a  goal, 
The  surer  knowledge  that  no  glad  sunrise 
Unrolls  a  radiant  world  to  radiant  eyes. 


79 


II 

TO   S.    D.    R. 

DELOVED,  from  the  hour  that  you  were  born 
•*-^  I  loved  you  with  the  love  whose  birth  is  pain; 
And  now,  that  I  have  lost  you,  I  must  mourn 
With  mortal  anguish,  born  of  Love  again; 
And  so  I  know  that  Love  and  Pain  are  one, 
Yet  not  one  single  joy  would  I  forego. — 
The  very  radiance  of  the  Tropic  sun 
Makes  the  dark  night  but  darker  here  below. 
Mine  is  no  coward  soul  to  count  the  cost; 
The  coin  of  Love  with  lavish  hand  I  spend, 
And  though  the  sunlight  of  my  life  is  lost 
And  I  must  walk  in  shadow  to  the  end, — 
I  gladly  press  the  cross  against  my  heart — 
And  welcome  Pain,  that  is  Love's  Counterpart! 


80 


Ill 

OERCHANCE  some  day  when  we  shall  see  the 

Whole 

We  may  rejoice  that  he  should  thus  depart, 
With  joy  incarnate  in  his  radiant  soul 
And  one  pure  Love,  untarnished,  in  his  heart; 
For  we,  who  near  our  Life's  relentless  goal, 
With  tattered  banners  in  our  listless  hands, 
No  more,  head  high,  can  answer  to  the  Roll: 
Our  feet  have  slipped  amid  the  shifting  sands 
Of  standards  lowered  and  illusions  lost. 
His  is  eternal  dawn,  no  setting  sun, 
And  we,  so  passion-driven — tempest-tossed — 
May  scarce  regret  his  short,  glad  battle  won. 
And  yet  this  anguished  thought  cannot  be  stilled— 
So  young,  so  loving,  and  so  unfulfilled! 


81 


IV 

TO   HER 

IV /I  Y  child  in  love,  the  beauty  of  your  eyes 
*  *  *  Holds  in  their  ardent  depths  a  poignant  pain, 
How  many  sad  and  sacramental  sighs 
Breathe  through  their  glance  and  wring  my  heart 

again. 

What  would  I  give  could  I  your  burden  bear 
Mingled  with  mine;  I  would  not  sink  below 
All  of  your  grief  and  all  of  your  despair, 
Could  I  but  once  again  transform  your  woe 
Into  the  joy  whose  promise  fair  you  knew, 
Birthright  of  love  which  his  great  love  fulfilled; 
Passion  more  pure,  and  Faith  more  firm  and  true 
Earth    hath    not    known    and    Heaven    hath    not 

willed. — 

And  yet,  perchance,  could  I  your  anguish  lift 
I  should  be  robbing  you  of  Life's  best  gift! 


V 

IMPOTENCE 

TO    HER 

TOVE  is  so  strong  and  yet  so  sadly  weak! 

*~*  When  I  behold  the  glory  of  your  eyes 

Sad  with  the  sorrow  which  they  may  not  speak— 

Dim  with  the  forfeit  of  their  glad  sunrise, 

I  long  to  hold  and  fashion  all  the  years 

Back  to  your  birthright  and  away  from  tears. 

II 

I  have  had  joy — Ah!  would  that  it  were  yours— 
I  have  known  life  and  its  broad  vision — pain— 
I  have  had  Love,  the  Love  that  love  allures; 
If  I  could  only  give  you  all  my  gain, 
There  is  no  prize  that  I  would  set  apart 
Could  it  but  help  the  healing  of  your  heart. 


83 


VI 

TO   HIM 

were  thine  eyes,  reflections  of  the  flower 
That  bids  us  not  forget,  nor  dream  that  we 
Can  be  forgotten  by  Love's  mighty  power. 
Their  lucid  depths  were  wells  of  constancy. 
Perchance   this    world    had    changed    those   ardent 

eyes 

That  met  its  call  with  loyal,  level  blue — 
For  it  may  be,  alas!  that  Life  belies 
The  promise  that  it  gives  when  Love  is  true. 
And  so,  although  I  weep  these  blinding  tears 
That  fill  my  cup  unto  the  bitter  brim, 
I  can  rejoice  that  the  corroding  years 
Thy  clear  and  crystal  glance  shall  never  dim. 
Are  we  so  frail  that  none  can  stand  the  test, 
Can  Death  alone  be  true  to  Love's  behest? 


84 


VII 

IT  IS  gift  was  Joy,  and  surely  we  must  keep 

The  gift  he  brought,  as  tribute  to  our  Love; 
And   we   must   smile,    with   eyes   that   fain    would 

weep 

Hot  tears  of  desolation,  till  we  prove 
That,   through  his  sunshine,   we  have  caught  the 

gleam 

Of  radiance  from  a  higher  sphere  than  ours; 
Just  as,  of  old,  his  presence  used  to  seem 
To  bring  a  sweeter  fragrance  to  the  flowers, 
A  keener  beauty  to  the  morning  sky, 
A  lilt  of  laughter  to  the  buoyant  breeze! 
So  we  must  gather  close  his  legacy 
Of  Love  and  Joy,  and  then,  perchance,  the  Peace 
Which  passeth  understanding  shall  abide 
In  our  sad  hearts  until  the  eventide. 


85 


VIII 
MARCH  NINETEENTH 

THIS  is  the  day  I  held  you  to  my  breast 
For  the  first  time,  and  looked  into  the  eyes 
So  soon  to  welcome  with  a  gay  surprise 
The  joy  of  life  and  all  its  ardent  zest. 
For,  ere  its  severed  span  was  rent,  the  Best, 
The  most  desired  and  achieved  prize, 
The  heart's  high  Love  that  only  true  love  buys, 
Had  crowned  your  youth  with  its  divine  behest. 
I  try  to  sate  my  longing  with  the  thought 
That  you  have  known  the  beauty  and  the  joy 
Of  Life  and  Love,  without  their  bitter  pain; 
But  as  the  miracle  of  Spring  is  wrought, 
And  its  new  birth  doth  Winter's  death  destroy, 
My  heart  cries  out  for  you  to  come  again! 


86 


IX 

FEBRUARY  21ST,  1909 

'"THIS  was  the  day  I  died,  when  all  Life's  sun 
1     Was  blotted  out  in  dark  and  dreadful  night. 
And  I,  who  lived  and  laughed  and  loved  the  light, 
In  one  brief  moment  knew  my  race  was  run; 
Knew  that  the  glory  of  my  days  was  done, 
Because  no  more  with  happy,  human  sight 
In  your  dear  eyes  could  I  read  love  aright, 
No  more  could  feel  how  closely  we  were  one, 
As  we  had  been  for  all  the  perfect  years 
From  boyhood  till  you  came  to  man's  estate; 
My  bliss  is  bartered  now  for  blinding  tears. 
So  young  to  die! — And  Joy  with  step  elate 
Had  chosen  you  her  own.     Love  unafraid 
Had  brushed  your  lips  with  royal  accolade! 


87 


FEBRUARY   2  1ST,    1912 

it  be  true  the  triple  years  have  passed 
With  dull  and  laggard  steps  above  your  head, 
And  yet,  my  Own,  I  cannot  make  you  dead! 
Light  of  my  life,  the  glamour  that  you  cast 
Is  with  me  still — I  hold  it  close  and  fast, 
And,  if  from  Earth  it  has  not  wholly  fled, 
May  not  the  sunshine  which  your  presence  shed 
Break  through  this  leaden  loneliness  at  last? 
Not  that  I  would  my  bitter  pain  deny, 

For  Love  is  Pain  and  I  would  pay  its  price, 

The  poignant  price  of  what  was  once  so  sweet! 
The  Cross  that  Christ  Himself  did  sanctify 
Symbolled  the  ardor  of  Love's  sacrifice, 
And  still  can  lift  us,  kneeling  at  His  feet! 


XI 

HEART    OF    MY    HEART 

Heart  of  my  heart, 
If  you  could  come  again, 
And  I  could  look  once  more  into  the  blue 
Clear  depths  of  your  dear  eyes  whose  soul  I  knew, 
Would  I  be  free  of  this  eternal  pain, 
Heart  of  my  heart? 

Heart  of  my  heart, 
If  I  could  kiss  your  brow, 
The     broad     young     brow     that    promised    virile 

thought, 

With  lines  of  vital  joy  and  ardor  wrought, 
Would  such  a  kiss  suffice  me  even  now, 
Heart  of  my  heart? 

Heart  of  my  heart, 
If  I  could  hear  your  voice 

And  thrill  to  its  clear  tone  with  dazed  delight, 
Would  all  the  world  seem  luminous  and  bright 
And  every  living  thing  with  me  rejoice, 
Heart  of  my  heart? 
89 


Heart  of  my  heart, 
If  I  could  touch  your  hand 
And  feel  its  vibrant  strength  enclose  my  own, 
I  sometimes  think  the  very  touch  alone 

Would  answer  all  my  soul  could  e'er  demand, 
Heart  of  my  heart? 

Heart  of  my  heart, 
If  this  could  ever  be, 
And  all  my  loneliness  were  so  forgot 
In  your  dear  presence,  yet  I  could  not  blot 
From  out  my  heart  this  mortal  misery, 
Heart  of  my  heart! 

Heart  of  my  heart, 
To  taste  the  depths  I've  known 
Is  to  be  part  of  this  World's  utter  Woe. 
How  could  I  then  forget  the  pain  I  know? 

Pain  and  my  heart  so  firmly  knit  have  grown, 
Heart  of  my  heart! 

Heart  of  my  heart, 
Not  even  your  loved  smile 
Could  ever  wake  my  own  to  answering  glee, 

90 


For,  from  the  knowledge  of  Earth's  agony, 

No  sweet  reunion  could  my  thoughts  beguile, 
Heart  of  my  heart! 

Heart  of  my  heart, 
My  lips  have  drunk  too  deep 
Of  Marah's  waters  ever  to  forget. 
All  I  can  do,  with  eyes  from  anguish  wet, 

Is  but  to  love  and  weep  with  those  that  weep, 
Heart  of  my  heart! 


XII 
THE   GARDEN  IN  THE  WOODS 


is  a  garden  in  a  distant  place, 
*     In  a  far  field  where  trees  encircling  grow, 
And,  often  when  the  summer  breezes  blow, 
I  go  alone  to  muse  upon  a  face 
That  was  my  joy.     White  roses  interlace 
His  resting  spot  the  granite  cross  below. 
There  my  dumb  heart  can  sometimes  voice  its  woe 
And  ask  the  healing  of  our  dear  Lord's  grace. 
The  fragrance  of  the  rose  is  as  his  youth, 
The  blue  forget-me-nots  reflect  his  eyes, 
The  deep  dyed  pansies  are  for  memory. 
In  that  sweet  garden  I  can  feel  the  truth 
That  all  my  love  doth  follow  to  the  skies 
And  pledge  the  Spirit's  immortality. 


XIII 
PAIN  THE  INTERPRETER 


the  Interpreter  with  level  eyes 
Has  bound  a  crown  of  thorns   upon   my 

brow— 

And  bids  me  wear  it  valiantly,  nor  bow 
A  vanquished  head  before  joy's  sacrifice. 

Pain  the  Interpreter  with  searching  hand 
Has  probed  my  heart  to  all  its  pregnant  woe, 
That  I  may  feel  the  world's  Titanic  throe, 
And  all  the  Earth  pain  fitly  understand. 

Pain  the  Interpreter  has  seared  my  soul 
Until  its  flame-swept  vision  may  discern 
The  utter  loneliness  of  souls  that  yearn 
Through  some  deep  anguish  toward  a  distant  goal 


93 


,—  .  BWAIS  OMlv  •• 

i"AtoSS^<i- 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


